


Don't You Know That I Love You? (Angel in the Snow)

by safelywildflower (nsfwildflower)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Agender Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Cas loves gardening, Christmas, First Kiss, Fluff, Gratuitous terms of endearment, Humor, I have no idea when in the show this is set, Love Confessions, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Snow, This wasn't meant to be a 15x18 rewrite but WHOOPS my hand slipped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28339794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nsfwildflower/pseuds/safelywildflower
Summary: Cas invites Dean into his garden behind the Bunker to watch the first snow of the year. Christmas-y fluff ensues.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	Don't You Know That I Love You? (Angel in the Snow)

**Author's Note:**

> Rated T for language.  
> Title is from Angel in the Snow by Elliott Smith.

Hm. Just-turned-18-year-old missing from a gated community in California. Old couple robbed at gun-point in a motel car park. Normal, normal. Harry the paddleboarding seal becomes local celebrity. That’s not even news.

Dean sighed and chucked his phone away, turning his attention back to the episode of Scooby-Doo that was playing on his TV. The box set was meant to be a Christmas present from Sam but Dean had caught him buying it - that was the problem with living together and spending all that time on the road cooped up in the same Impala - and insisted on taking it early because, quote, he had seen all of Doctor Sexy at least twice and had had enough of that Milgore Girls crap Sam likes.  
By now, Dean was halfway through the bottle of scotch he was drinking out of boredom, and the feeling of having his head stuffed with cotton balls had begun to set in. It had been a couple of weeks, maybe, since their last hunt (it was hard enough to keep track of the time of day in winter when it always seemed to be dark or getting there, the days of the week were beyond him), and as much as he loved the bunker, he was getting a bit restless. A couple of days ago, Sam had brought out a bunch of Christmas decorations from Chuck-knows-where, but luckily he’d kept the tinsel infestation away from Dean’s room. His room that was the same as ever. Maybe he’d find something about interior decoration on Netflix to pass the time. Sam would probably never let him live that down, though. No, not a good idea.  
As he reached over to pick his phone back up again, a gentle knock sounded on his door. Cas, then, considering he hadn’t heard any moose-stomping or jeans-rustling down the corridor. Dean smiled to himself.

“Come in,” and then, as Cas stepped through the door, “what’s up, angel?”

“Nothing much. I’ve been tending to the plants behind the bunker. What is - ‘up?’ - with you?”

“Bored. No cases.”

Cas stood there, in the doorway, for a few long moments, meeting Dean’s gaze. His cheeks were unusually flushed, and the sleeves of his slightly muddied trenchcoat had been rolled up methodically to the elbows, revealing strips of bare skin wrapped softly with dark hair. No, Dean. Eye contact. Don’t get excited over Cas’s damn forearms.

“It’s about to snow.”

“What?”

“It’s about to snow. I smelled it in the atmosphere and thought of you perhaps wanting to get some fresh air.”

Dean chuckled gently. “I’d like that.”

He could feel Cas’s gaze on him as he shucked off his blanket and placed the scotch back onto his dresser. As he stood, ready to go, Cas moved forward, tilted his head in curiosity, and ran his hand precisely through Dean’s hair, leaving Dean to hold in his breath, enraptured.

“Your hair looked like you’d been laying down for several hours, so I sorted it out for you.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean breathed out shakily. Cas had always been touchy-feely, of course. When Dean had realised, the oh-shit-oh-fuck-what-the-hell-am-I-gonna-do-now moment, that he was hideously in love with the angel, he’d quickly shifted from the flirting that had left a curious spark in his chest to shutting Cas down whenever he got too close, scared he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself. That had been a couple of years ago, and he hated himself less for it now, but the full five stages of grief he’d drunk his way through in that time hadn’t worked to diminish the feelings at all. In fact, the more time he spent with Cas in the domestic comfort of the bunker, the more he was drunk on something else, on the feeling of belonging that seeped from all his memories with Cas. Following Cas to stand in a snowstorm wasn’t even the worst, the sappiest, he’d been. At least he had the comfort that while Sam would make fun of him for home decorating shows all he liked, the topic of Cas and the maybe-possibly-definitely-more-than-platonic emotions Dean had towards him was safely off-limits.

Dean shook himself out of his thoughts and stepped around Cas to lean against the wall, toeing his boots on. Cas went first, treading silently, as always, towards the map room, with Dean following closely behind. Sam had managed to persuade Cas to dig up a huge Christmas tree to fill the double-height room, promising him that they’d give it plenty of water and nutrients and bury it back in the ground afterwards to keep on growing. As far as Dean could tell, having been shut up in his room safely away from the saccharine holiday spirit at the time, Cas had done this begrudgingly, but refused to help Sam untangle and put up the lights, so despite his height, he had been no match for the huge tree, and it remained undecorated.

“I’m not your maid, or your personal handyman,” said Cas, as he saw Dean’s glance at the plain-looking tree.  
Dean laughed. “It’s fine by me just keeping it like that.”

“Your brother seems very invested in American capitalist holiday traditions.”

“You do realise that maids aren’t normally guys, right?”

Cas looked puzzled at Dean. “Angels don’t have genders, Dean. Although I suppose your description of me as a ‘guy’ does seem accurate to my current self-conception.” And then he just continued up the stairs out of the bunker, leaving Dean to catch up.

A moment after Dean stepped outside into the bright, cold air, he spotted Cas crouched over one of his plants. Behind the curved roof of the bunker, in what had been a pretty barren, rubble-filled field, Cas had set up an allotment of sorts, with rows of various herbs and bushes neatly labelled with wooden markers. In autumn, there had been a lot of boxes of root veg left in the bunker kitchen, and bundles of herbs all year round, but the ground was looking fairly sparse now. The soil had to recuperate, Cas had said. Dean weaved his way down the path towards him.

Dean shuffled his hands awkwardly as he stood behind Cas, who was packing down some soil around a stem. “Is that like - crap what is it called - agender?”

Cas stood up and turned around to look at Dean thoughtfully. “That could be one of the human terms for it. I think ‘genderfluid’ is also currently in use. Many different cultures have had different definitions, of course. It was ordinary, for instance, to followers of Norse mythology, that Loki shapeshifts between differently gendered forms. Forgive me for saying this but I’m surprised that you are aware of the term ‘agender’. You didn’t receive the most tolerant upbringing, after all.” He leant back down to pick up a pair of pruners.

“Oh, the internet, you know,” Dean provided in response. Cas seemed undaunted just pruning the bush while Dean stood behind him, wondering about Jimmy and everything else he thought he knew about Cas that he’d just taken for granted.

“I did a bit of research,” Dean eventually elaborated. “There are a lot more words and flags and stuff than I’d thought. I was…” Dean shuffled self-consciously. “I was a bit confused. I always just thought it was like, most people are normal and then a few people are gay. Normal, like, straight, I mean.”

“John,” Cas suggested.

“Yeah,” Dean chuckled humourlessly. “Those ideas were definitely all him. I didn’t really think about it, until, you know I really did. I-”

Cas let him talk in comfortable silence, his back still turned, hands busying away. Dean sat down quietly behind him, leaning gently against the chain-link fence that marked some property line or other.

“I was confused. You know, I liked women. But there were a couple of guys, and I- I’ll spare you the details. It was a long time ago. It took a long time for me to learn that there was such a thing as being bisexual. And then longer for my brain to be like, hey wait, that’s me. That wasn’t a fun day. But, yeah, I looked more into it after that. There’s loads of stuff that I just had no idea about. So that’s how I know. And that’s me.”

After a moment, sensing that Dean’s speech had come to an end, Cas carefully placed down the pruners and turned around to sit precisely cross-legged in front of him.

“Thank you for telling me that, Dean.” His eyes were bright with honesty. “I know it can be difficult for you to express these things.”

Dean looked self-consciously down at his hands. Like Cas’s fingernails, caked with dirt until he came in for the night, his were grubby with motor oil and half-chewed.

“Dean, look,” Cas suggested softly. Dean looked up to see him standing, gazing directly at the sky, and holding his hands out in front of him.

“You _did_ know it would snow.” A couple of flakes were scattering clumsily through the air.

“Again, you forget I’m an angel sometimes, Dean.”

Dean managed to catch one of the snowflakes, and quickly moved to give it to Cas, brushing both of their life-grubbied hands together. Cas them up to his eye line and studied the melting snowflake intently.

“I know you also appreciate this part of God’s creation.” Then, looking at Dean’s face - “does it bother you that I’m an angel, Dean?”

Dean drew his eyebrows together. “How could it bother me? You’re an angel, that’s who you are. Stoic, unrelenting, fiercely protective. The warrior. I mean, even when you were technically human. You were still the same person I loved. Or not-person, I guess.”

“You- You think you could love a not-person?” Cas looked uncertain for once, still holding onto Dean’s hand, face framed by the snow, which was falling more heavily now.

Dean stepped even closer to Cas, and almost laughed as a snowflake in his eyelash counteracted his serious expression.

“I think ‘could’ is out of the question.” Cas looked puzzled. “You think I can’t love you because you’re an angel? Because of what you’ve done in the name of your army?” Dean laughed. “You’re a Winchester, making bad decisions comes with the territory. I love you Cas.”

Cas stared at him, almost unbelievingly.

“Fuck. I finally said it. I love you Cas.” He looked up and shouted into the incoming snowstorm. “I love Castiel!”

When he looked down again, a smile, wide as he’d ever seen it, had broken out on Cas’s face.

“Now don’t let that get to your head. I mean, you’re a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent or whatever, you probably deserve a bit of an ego. But still.”

Dean smirked, brushed himself off, turned around and started to walk away.

“Wait! Dean!”

He stopped, confused, and turned around again. Cas was still standing there, gathering snow on the shoulders of his trenchcoat.

“Why are you leaving?”

Dean was puzzled. “Leaving after a job well done? I mean, I never thought I’d strike up the courage, to be honest. I feel much better for having said it. God that’s some Dr Phil crap, but-”

“Don’t you think I have anything to say in reply?”

Dean looked crestfallen. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. It’s awkward now. Human charge, I’m kind of interfering with the whole angel-human relationship thing.”

“Dean.” Cas strode towards him. “You really think that you can say that and have nothing come of it? You think you’re not deserving of any words in return? You're the most caring man on Earth, Dean. Your selflessness is infectious. Ever since I pulled you out of Hell, knowing you has changed me. I care about the whole world because of you. You teach me that each human life is messy, is complicated, is sacred. You teach me how to have free will, how to use it. You teach me that the highest honour is to use it to be glad, to be kind, to love. I love you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean stood, shellshocked, snow falling heavily in the now-small space between them.

“I’d like to kiss you now,” said Cas. “May I?”

Dean, pupils blown and mouth unspeaking, nodded.

They leaned in together, neither wanting to waste any time, and they kissed, mouths warm and perfect. Dean felt the most completely whole, his entire body lit up, head buzzing-

“Dean, your nose is cold.” Cas was staring at him from a couple of inches away.

Dean laughed, then almost doubled over at Cas’s serious expression.

“Dean! This temperature is sub-optimal for humans without proper outer layers! Why are you laughing?”

He dragged Cas by the arm towards the bunker door.

“Angel, sunshine, love of my life, get in here and kiss me properly.”

**Author's Note:**

> All agender/genderfluid/nonbinary people are celestial beings. No, I will not take criticism.
> 
> My first fluff fic! I wrote this (almost) entirely on Christmas Day because I sure have a life! Happy holidays to everyone who celebrates and I hope this was a good (if slightly belated) present.
> 
> -wildflower


End file.
